Weightless
by helloimnikki
Summary: Two years after the war Hermione Granger lives a life of guilt and solitude, masked as another person. Dramione.
1. Chapter 1

****Please be aware of the angsty beginnings. I didn't put this story under angst because i like happy endings;)

**Chapter 1**

Her heart beat wildly, the water around her heightening its volume, muting the unhindered pants she has been making.

She could feel it, at the pit of her stomach… building up… building up, as she went faster…

Memories flashed through Hermione Granger's mind… Harry and Ginny's wedding, both happy, both in love… Ron holding her hand, blue eyes on hers as they mutually agreed what they had was not what they'd hoped.

Sighing, she removed her fingers from where it had been, thinking she will never be able to find that kind of happiness. She longed for that fullness, that glow; A year since her break-up, and two since the war's end, and she was still lacking it.

She feels more alone than ever before.

Her eyes remained close as she willed her self to relax, take in the scents of mixed citrus from her bath oils, and forget everything. It is only at the confines of her bath that she felt this free.

Not a single care about the world and its on going prejudices, or her life of solitude.

Weightless.

Free of the pity glances from strangers and from her friends… They never believed her when she told them they'd long since parted. Ron loved her and would never, even dream of the one letting go, unless…

And they were right. He did love her. She does, too.

That reality eats her alive… The knowledge that her Ron, her selfless Ron, spent the remaining days of his precious life in solitude just so she would not witness it, and so it would be easier for her to move on.

That only made it worse. The guilt is tearing her apart. She made Ron feel unloved and unwanted. She made him feel he has wasted a year of his life with her. The thought that her best friend, the man he loved… the man she thought she loved left this cruel world thinking those has driven her to _this._

She deserves this life. She has no business ruining other people's lives with her presence. She's done enough.

She rose up the bath, pushing all thoughts aside, putting her concentration to the task at hand.

Hermione Granger is currently the leading Healing Potions Researcher in the country; although, others knew her as Jane Watson, the blonde, unattractive girl who grew up outside Britain. She wore thick-rimmed glasses, had acne on her face and always, always wore a frown. The latter probably the only thing Jane and Hermione had in common.

Even as Jane Watson, she rarely ever met people. She's mostly stuck in her research lab, or in the comforts of her own studio flat-slash-make-shift library. She lived at a magical community just outside Central London, her apartment is in a tower, built fairly recently, that boasted the latest wizardry architecture and, of course, her most coveted privacy.

She liked her flat, it was very her… it wasn't enough that each wall was covered with muggle and wizard literature, she also had her levitating bookshelves that glow in the dark and act as an alternative light source. She also liked the view.

She lived on the top-most floor, with another tenant just across her flat. It was a pity she didn't have the other flat, she could have made a greenhouse for her herbs, or maybe just read and relax. She wonders if the tenant would be kind enough to let her have a peak, 'No matter', she thought, 'this flat is enough, and what use would having a look at it, do?'

She's never had a chance to meet said tenant, and she never intends to. She rarely ever uses the tower lift, opting to floo or apparate to her lab instead. However, this day, she was going to have to. The tower had placed new rules to enhance privacy, which she found unnecessary. Flooing and apparition are still allowed, given that the witch or wizard's name is listed. This made Hermione's eyes roll, as the idea of your visitor's names compiled in one parchment completely dishevels the whole point of privacy. That wouldn't apply to her anyway, she doesn't receive visits nor does she plan to, she wonders if Jane Watson is considered a different person.

Jane Watson came from the marriage of Polyjuice potion and some Advance transfiguration. Technically she was still herself. She used her own DNA, transfigured some genes and put it in the polyjuice. She had thought of permanently transfiguring herself as Jane Watson, but backed out. She can't, and won't run away from her self-imposed solitude.

She does not deserve a second chance.

Hermione drank her coffee laced with polyjuice, and left her home as soon as she felt her body change. The tower's changes meant that she was going to have to floo from the Apparition Floor, the only place that allows travel, at the moment. She couldn't very well apparate to where she's headed because of its wards, and she was wary that if she apparated to the only place in that house she recalled, her cover might get blown. And besides, she needs to act professional.

The room is lined with fireplaces, much like the Ministry's atrium, only this room was all white save for the fireplaces which were tiled in black.

Hermione chose the one closest to the door, grabbed a handful of floo powder as she shouted,

"Malfoy Manor!"

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review please?;)

intended it to be a one-shot but the story just grew and grew. oh well, it's still going to be short though.

be a dear and tell me what you think:)


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone seemed to have moved on.

She's never seen herself as weak. She was a war heroine- bright, bold and true. At least that is what others tell her. Yes, she was bright, brightest of her age in fact. Yes, she was bold, bold enough to fight the darkest wizard of all time. And win. Therefore, she was strong.

Or was she?

As she stepped out of the fireplace, she was reminded yet again of the day Hermione Granger stopped living. She had stayed in her flat as a recluse, filthy and starved, for months. Until _that _letter.

Everyone has moved on. Yet she was stuck in the same place.

Just before the adrenaline of the war has drained out of her system, Hermione had been restless. She had invented new spells, started a new potions garden and wrote countless upon countless of essays, to which she has sent under maiden name of her late mother. She knew that as Hermione Granger it would be published, front page of the Daily Prophet with a biased view, filled with false adoration and pretences; she did not want that.

That was how Jane Watson was born.

Her footsteps echoed along the grand hallway of the manor, loud and steady against the still silence that surrounded it. The high walls that used to be decorated with paintings of the Malfoy line were now bare, save for flamed torches that lined it, lighting the way for those who dared.

This particular wing of the manor was said to have been Voldemort's workshop, birthplace to vile creatures and dark magic. Unknown and uncontrolled magic- dark and dangerous- are lurking around only waiting to be triggered. And yet here she is strolling like she was in a park.

Maybe she has gone reckless. But really, what's the worst that could happen? She has seen it all- Well… apparently not.

A figure clad only with a sheet wrapped around its midriff appeared before her, wafts of smoke blurring its face.

'Who are you?' she asked, her voice unsurprisingly calm, her right hand reaching for her wand.

The figure stood unhearing, raised its hand and ran it through its- his- hair. The figure was a man, it would seem. Half naked and wet, he curled down on bended knees and began to sob uncontrollably. His hands ran through his bright red hair again. It was very bright, alarmingly so… only that now, it wasn't anymore.

Blood washed away by water dripped from his head to his bare, broad shoulders, down to his back; the white sheet covering him was now soiled with it, yet the floor remained dry.

'You!' Hermione called, stepping closer 'Are you alright?'

No answer. Only sobs… of pain, and something familiar. _Ah._ That's it.

She has once felt that way. Crying away that constricted, heaviness looming in her chest, like it was some sort of lifeline. Until she felt her eyes dry, her body tired, and her chest empty. Just empty. An abyss she has long given up to even attempt to fill ate her all up, leaving her for nought.

She kneeled down at an arm's length beside the man, studying his features more closely. His hands, pale and veined, covered his face. But she could imagine vividly a tortured face, marred with blood and tears. She felt almost protective. She reached out to him her fingers lightly grazed his. She almost expected him not to react, but he did. Jolting as if electrocuted, he snapped his head up, and Hermione's face paled in recognition.

Of course! How can she not have known? No one, no one in the wizarding community donned the pale complexion much like theirs. And she was in their family's Manor after all! Brightest witch of her age her arse. His silver hair was more evident now that the water has cleansed it all.

His face, masked in shock and fear, shot from left to right seemingly looking for something. He looked at her again, unseeing. He could not see her, just as he did not hear her when she called out.

'Malfoy!' she tried again, her voice booming around the corridor. No response. _What could this be?_ She thought. _Perhaps a projection… no, she felt his skin, he was real. _She reached out again this time gently laying her hand on his arm. His skin was cold and damp. He shivered and tensed at the contact, but didn't draw his hand back. He relaxed. After a few moments, he warily lifted his other hand and laid it over hers. She wondered if he could feel her too.

His face was now sombre, but gave away nothing. Just as she was about to pull out her hand, he looked up yet again in her direction and slid his arm so her hand was now clasped between his.

'Don't,' he almost begged, 'Don't leave me again, please. Never again…'


	3. Chapter 3

Jane Watson was a plump blonde, her 'womanly' curves well filled and a little bit more. She liked this body. Just after the war Hermione's face was plastered in every witch magazine in print. They talked about how they adored her veela-like figure and other ridiculous things like the elven features she apparently had. They _adored_ it so much that they even questioned her if she's undergone muggle _surgeny_. The next day, the ministry was forced to issue an age restriction to travel as witches as young as fifteen ventured up muggle London, asking unassuming citizens where they could find a _surgen_.

Harry was there to share her public dread; he was most eligible bachelor. He took it better than her, of course, for he had years' experience. It also helped that he had Ginny in his arms most of the time. And slowly the title waned; she didn't have much luck.

When she had finally put on the weight she had lost during war, rumours of pregnancy swarmed the country. Ron, fortunately (or not), was abroad at the time. So naturally, they suspected every single man she had come in contact with. Even Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic who was old enough to be her grandfather.

It annoyed Hermione to no end.

She ran a hand over her belly, an act she has grown accustomed to. It was currently flat. She suddenly felt empty… Hungry. Yes, she was very hungry. She's not had anything apart from the coffee from her travelling mug. She had refused the call upon house elves in the Manor for food, cursing herself in process for forgetting to pack lunch.

She heaved a sigh. It had been a long day. She shouldn't have accepted this project! But Jane Watson never refused, so she didn't. Nothing exciting ever happens in their Department, her refusal would be the talk of the gossips. A trip to past was more tolerable.

Now that a day has gone, she can safely say she had made the right decision. She dreaded meeting Lucius Malfoy the most, but even that had been almost civil.

She had been so scared. There was once a time when Hermione might have stayed to indulge her curiosity. So long ago, it would seem.

As Draco Malfoy held her hands like his life depended on it, she almost lost conviction. But she did not want to be needed, be responsible for another. She thought to stay but what good would it do? After all, she only ever ruins any one who cared for her, because that is what Hermione Granger does. And that is why Hermione Granger is no longer. She was Jane Watson now, and Jane Watson does not try to protect, nor care because Jane Watson knows that it is best.

Yet… he looked so broken.

'If my memory serves my right- and it always has- it was agreed that you were to wait to be fetched by the Floo Room,' stated a voice reeking with authority.

Draco's hold loosened so quickly she had lost her balance and fell on her bottom. She looked up to the owner of voice, expecting the worst, no longer noticing the Draco disappearing on a cloud of smoke.

Lucius Malfoy stood regally, clad in black and a cane in hand. There was an obvious distaste in his face, but it was not as she remembered. It was more hindered or maybe less poisoned. He looked at her silently as she rose ungracefully, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She wiped her hands on her pencil skirt, surprised that it had been dry all along. She looked back to where Draco had sat… not a single sign to disprove that it all had been just a dream.

Maybe it was.

'Sincerest apologies, Mr Malfoy I was just- very beautiful home- your son- I saw-' she was rambling, she took a large bout of breath before she continued lest she embarrass herself further, 'I'm sorry, sir. I should have waited. It would seem I underestimated the uncontrolled magic present here.'

Lucius Malfoy looked thoughtful then said, 'Please, Ms Watson, can you tell me what you saw?'

'Your son, sir. I saw your son.' She replied, and with uncertainty she added, 'he _is _alright, isn't he?'

'Curious.'

His brow furrowed, looking at her as if she were something alien. It bothered Hermione but she tried to school her features so it would not show.

'What is pray tell, sir?'

'Don't let it bother you, Ms Watson.' He said, the air of authority back as the thoughtful expression faded, 'Come. I shall show you to where you are working.'

Jane Watson was not the only professional invited in the Manor. As they delved deeper into the West Wing, she saw other aurors-in-training cleaning up the simpler spells as more experienced professionals dealt with the more challenging ones.

Her job was to examine the remainder of the potions, stabilise them before they are disposed of. She was to start in the main potions room, and work her way down to the rooms the aurors has listed to have potion related items.

The pair walked silently amidst the spells and incantations that echoed across. A few times Hermione studied the man who walked in front of him. There was very little change, but change nonetheless.

His back was less stiff, he limped slightly but there was much more. His steps seemed lighter.

This tempted Hermione to ask him about his son. _He should be fine, right? _She asked herself. _But did it really happen? And what did he mean by don't let it bother her? Because she was!_

'Here you are, Ms Watson' Lucius Malfoy's voice raised her from her musings. He opened the door with a wave of his wand, and with another lit up the room. Before she could say anymore pleasantries, he had beat her to it. 'I shall leave you to it, then, Ms Watson. Please do make use of the house elves if you need anything, there is a bell in each room to call them.' She nodded. 'And I trust you remember the way for the next days to come?' She nodded again. 'I shall take my leave then, Ms Watson. I have business to attend to.'

Hermione spent the remainder of the day in comfortable silence, rewinding the events of earlier in the morning.

She was reminded of the school bully that was Draco Malfoy. His insufferable narcissistic tendencies matched with his prejudiced views made him very easy to hate. And if Hermione was being true to herself, she found it easy to hate him when she was convinced that he was evil.

When he had changed sides, however, Hermione was forced to accept the grey lines that lay between good and evil. She had not seen the younger Malfoy since the war, but she imagined that he would be changed as well. It was true that war had changed people; it certainly did her. She imagined that she would be less accepting of the Malfoys, but at the moment she was indifferent to what they had done during the past.

She's not yet decided whether it was a good thing.

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man, i'm on a roll with this fic! leave me a review, please? although i settle for favourites too. yeah, i'm easy like that.

ps. next chapter will be up sometime this week. ~more dramione happens theeeere~

-nikki


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the week has gone past rather uneventfully. Hermione walked up and down the same hallway but never saw the Draco's ghost again. She never met his father either, nor other people for that matter. She worked efficiently and diligently, listing ingredients, jotting down its effects to the body and ideas on potential counter potion.

As exciting as it all may seem, it was not without the danger it presented. Twice, she almost burnt her fingers to ashes. Luckily the only wound she nursed at the moment was a small graze that ran from the back of her middle finger to her wrist. She already tried using various healing spells, but she already knew it wouldn't work. What she really needed was a healing salve and a couple of herbs. She already rummaged through the cupboards in the vast room and to no surprise there wasn't any. Somehow it was hard to imagine Dark wizards keeping healing salves in their work area.

As she still refused to call upon a house elf, she showed herself out, opting to go home instead.

On her way to the Floo Room, she heard a soft voice humming a familiar tune. Her mother used to sing it to her. As she started to walk in its direction, a piano melody accompanied it. Even with the single notes, the playing was unsure and all over the place. She was suddenly taken to her childhood.

Hermione was no piano genius, but she had started playing young. Her mother insisted that she learnt the instrument. There had been a few tantrums along the way but if there was anyone more stubborn than she, it was her mother.

She never understood why she had to until the week before she was to travel to Hogwarts.

Her parents took the day off to bring her to the cemetery. It was not the one where either of her grandparents was laid to rest; it was one just right around the corner from where they lived.

Hermione followed wordlessly amongst the well-used path, carrying a white tulip. She paused when her parents did, in front of a headstone that read:

**Timothy Granger**

January 1986

A life yet lived,

Songs unsung,

Forever Remembered,

Forever Loved.

'This is your older brother, Hermione.' Her mother had said, as she laid her tulip down the ground. She looked solemn as her dad held her in his arms, it was all Hermione could do not to break down and cry in front of the brother she will never meet.

'I've always wanted you to learn this piano piece called _Pathetique_,' She heard her mother say a bittersweet smile in her face, 'it was the only song I would ever listen to whilst I was pregnant with him… and you actually.'

Her father gave a weak laugh at this, 'Oh, you should have seen your mother when I accidentally broke the player!' he shuddered exaggeratedly, 'It was not a pretty sight, I could tell you that!'

Hermione smiled with tears threatening to pour out of her eyes as she enveloped her parents into a hug.

The music has led her to a rather large sitting room. Large windows allowed the sunlight to stream in. It provided a picturesque background to the beautiful grand piano and the unassuming player.

He had his back to her as he heaved a frustrated sigh. It was apparent that he was a beginner. His playing was awkward, but he was diligent at least. After getting the notes wrong, he tried again and again.

It took Hermione a few more frustrated sighs, mutterings before recognising the player.

_Impossible._

She wondered if she was seeing things again. This Draco Malfoy was light years away from what she had seen in the hallway days ago, and certainly a whole universe further from Malfoy the school bully. The top half of his hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, but some of his fringe still escaped. She subconsciously tucked hers in her ear.

She looked down at the clothing he wore and did not no whether to be shocked or to be amused. From where she was stood, he reminded her of her Dad on lazy days when he did not work. He wore sleeping robes over what seemed to be plaid pyjamas, and fluffy slippers.

Fluffy slippers! Draco Malfoy was wearing fluffy slippers!

Before she could stop herself, she gasped, earning a curious look from the man himself.

'Yes, I'd imagine I would have the same expression if saw myself play.' He grinned sheepishly.

She tried stringing words in her mind, but even that seemed impossible. She felt her cheeks grow hot, as she looked down the floor.

'Well, this is embarrassing.' He spoke again after an awkward silence.

Fussing over her glasses to avert looking him in the eyes, she said, 'I-I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy.' She really was. She felt like she was invading his privacy, and Merlin knows she hated that herself.

'Oh, don't be,' he casually waved off as he took his cup of coffee from the tea table next to the piano, 'I am though. You had to witness my awful, awful playing!'

She smiled at this. It felt weird. She had not used some of those muscles for quite a while. She was not one to strike up a conversation but for some reason-maybe it was the friendliness he evoked, or maybe the way he flapped his arms as he deprecated his own playing- she had asked before she could stop herself:

'What made you start playing?'

The carefree grin had left his face in place of sad smile as he said the two words she had not expected to from him.

'My wife.'

_Wow. A wife, _she thought.

Everyone seemed to have moved on apart from her.

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A/N. none of my follows are updating, so I'm updating instead. Lol. As usual, any indication that you read this fic gets me going:D e-mails about reviews and follows makes me so giddy!

-nikki


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